


Though separated, never truly apart

by MaskoftheRay



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alive Dettlaff van der Eretein, Angst, Broken Bones, Drugged Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Holding Hands, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Protective Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, two old men in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: After serving his prison sentence, Geralt’s life mostly goes back to normal. He returns to Corvo Bianco and takes up more witcher contracts. In time, Regis comes back to Toussaint after helping Dettlaff reestablish himself elsewhere. However, this doesn’t mean that everything is better just because their problems have been ‘solved.’ Some issues don’t go away so easily, after all. Things come to a head when the witcher is injured and on pain killers after seeking out the barber-surgeon’s assistance.
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Pre Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	Though separated, never truly apart

**Author's Note:**

> “Yet, because outward storms the strongest break,  
> And strength itself by confidence grows weak,  
> This new world may be safer, being told  
> The dangers and diseases of the old;  
> For with due temper men do then forgo,  
> Or covet things, when they their true worth know”  
> — from “An Anatomy of the World,” by John Donne

_There are not_ _many finer physical specimens than the White Wolf_ , Regis muses. The witcher is currently sprawled atop his bed, back propped up slightly by the higher vampire’s pillow as well as a folded blanket. The spare one from the witcher’s pack covers him. Geralt’s broken— and now set— right arm rests rigidly on his abdomen over the blanket. Although he isn’t asleep, the witcher’s brow is smooth and his face relaxed. He looks unbothered and unaware of the world’s many problems, for once. It shouldn’t be long before he succumbs to slumber. That is a relief.

Thinking back to earlier this evening, Regis sighs. _That man would be the death of me if I were mortal_. After he dragged himself to Regis’s abode for medical attention, the witcher hadn’t accepted his offer of painkillers. It wasn’t that bad of a break, and so it would be a waste of supplies as well time, Geralt had insisted, much to his ire. Thankfully, however, the higher vampire has had years of practice persuading excessively stubborn witchers to treat their bodies with the care they deserve. He’d won that argument.

Still, Geralt had grimaced and sulked when he’d been handed the vial and ordered to drink it all. Whether the reaction was a result of his witcher senses or his disdain for displaying any ‘weakness,’ Regis isn’t sure. After the witcher finally had taken the painkiller, he’d then carefully stripped out of his armored top, sword harness, and boots— with the barber-surgeon’s assistance— while he waited for the medicine to take effect. That was an hour ago.

In the time since then, Regis has managed to clean, splint, and bandage Geralt’s arm as well as dress his other (minor) wounds, feed him, and ensure he’s hydrated. Now the barber-surgeon sits in a small wooden chair tucked into the corner of his dwelling as he waits for his witcher to fall asleep. He has a book propped open on his lap— a tome of alchemical recipes, some experimental— but he hasn’t glanced at it for some time. This is because, although Geralt’s breathing has slowed and deepened, it still hasn’t descended into the pattern of sleep.

“Wha’ is it?” Regis blinks, noticing quite suddenly that Geralt has angled his head sideways on the pillow and how his fuzzy yellow gaze is now fixed on him. As if answering his question, the witcher adds: “Can sense you brooding fr’m here, Regis.”

He does his best not to laugh. “Is that so, Geralt?”

Unlike him, the witcher is unable to hold back his snort. The movement jostles his arm, and a moment later his brow crumples in pain. “Ow,” he mutters. Then Geralt sighs, looking as if he’s going to try and sit up.

In a flash, his chair is abandoned as Regis rushes to the witcher’s side and gently places a hand on his shoulder. “You need to rest, my friend.”

Geralt blinks, yellow eyes widening slightly at his sudden interference. His expression turns childishly petulant. “ _Know_ that. And ’m not that breakable.”

Regis purses his lips and bites down on a sigh. He settles into a more comfortable position next to the witcher, who clearly requires closer watching, then cautiously removes his hand. Despite his earlier comment, Geralt doesn’t attempt to sit up again. Nor does he speak. The higher vampire hopes that his friend will fall asleep now. He needs it.

Sadly, he’s not that fortunate.

“Regis?”

He looks down at Geralt, only to see that the witcher seems to have been upset by something. His eyebrows have knit themselves together and his frown is deep. “What is it, Geralt? Speak.”

The witcher blinks languidly and some of his discomforted expression fades as he meets the higher vampire’s black eyes. But not all of it. There is still a terrible, burning insistency in his gaze. It sends a pang of worry through Regis. “I was thinkin,’ ” Geralt starts slowly, “it’s kinda… nice, bein’ here. With you.”

He stills, feeling almost stunned by the not-quite confession. However, higher vampires are not easily overwhelmed for long. Something which he’s extremely grateful for at this moment. Regis shakes himself from his stupor and smiles gently down at his friend. “While I am pleased to hear that, Geralt, it feels as if I _shouldn’t_ be, given that the idea also seems to have upset you.”

The witcher hums, shifting sideways slightly to see him more easily. When he’s settled, Geralt shrugs one shoulder. “ ’s not your fault, Regis. It’s _me_. Realized how much I missed you, an’ the others too, while you were gone. Hurts. Right here—” He taps his forehead, then stares up at the barber-surgeon, expression almost child-like. “Why does it have to hurt?”

The higher vampire frowns sharply, for a moment thinking that he may have somehow missed a head injury. Then it hits him. Geralt isn’t talking about his head hurting, but his _mind_. Still, due diligence never harmed anyone. “Your head?” he asks patiently.

“No!” The reply is decidedly huffy this time as if Geralt expects Regis to have divined the answer already. “Inside. Hurts inside.”

Regis frowns, understanding all too well. _Alas, I, too, am familiar with that particular feeling, my friend_. He hastily sets the thought aside, lest he is dragged further down by it. Recent events have made that an all too likely possibility. “Ah,” is all he replies, sadly.

Suddenly, Geralt reaches out and grabs his hand. His touch is warm, rough, and familiar. He squeezes Regis’s hand carefully— as if he’s capable of hurting the higher vampire— then lets go. “Didn’t realize ’til I got you back and… and lost you _again_ , that I was lonely. It’s a shitty feeling, Regis. Would gladly give up the vineyard and leave Toussaint, if it didn’t bother me all the time.”

Another, more urgent alarm swells inside him. This time, he is the one to reach for Geralt. Regis clasps the witcher’s unbroken hand in both of his and waits until he has the other man’s full attention. “Geralt,” he says softly but firmly, “you must know that you’ve always had me. Even when I was off with Dettlaff. And though we have been— and may again be— drawn to different and disparate paths, I assure you that nothing will ever truly separate us.”

Geralt squeezes his hand back and holds Regis’s gaze for a long moment. Then a smile slowly spreads over his face. He blinks, yawning widely. In the higher vampire’s grip, the witcher’s hand goes slack. “Good,” Geralt says, even as his eyelids flutter sleepily. “Never wanna be separated fr’m you ’gain… Stay?”

Unsure if he means here, in this moment, or in a more general— and _permanent_ — sense, Regis hesitates. But he doesn’t wish to disappoint Geralt. Never wants to disappoint him. The Gods know just how far he has gone to avoid doing so in the past. Perhaps it was foolish of him, but he’s never regretted it. Even now. So there’s only one answer he can give: “Of course, Geralt.”

The witcher smiles up at him. “Thanks,” he mutters, before his eyelids close and he’s asleep.

As he’s about to get up, Regis realizes that he’s still holding Geralt’s hand and that the witcher has shifted towards him— his head is next to the higher vampire’s torso. Geralt is a troubled sleeper at the best of times, and he’ll surely wake if he does anything to disturb him now. Which means that Regis is stuck here at least until the other man is more deeply unconscious. Not that he minds, of course. It gives him time to think, and the feel of Geralt’s warm hand in his own is utterly and damningly comfortable. He sighs, but allows himself to indulge in the feeling. They will certainly have to speak about this later. When Geralt is not intoxicated.

But that’s a matter for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Read the full version of “An Anatomy of the World” [here](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44092/an-anatomy-of-the-world).


End file.
